


In the Right Place at the Right Time

by zenonaa



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-29 05:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5117315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenonaa/pseuds/zenonaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unrelated one shots of different AUs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. IshiMondo - Meeting at a Festival

**Author's Note:**

> These are requests from my tumblr that I'm slowly getting through...

Daiya’s yukata doesn’t fit particularly well but Mondo wears it anyway, along with a pair of geta that clap against his heels and tired eyes that don’t belong on someone his age. Not far from his house, a crowd troops along a road, shadowy clouds pricked with orbs of light, drifting in the night. He sort of runs, sort of hops down the steep hillside that overlooks the road, and he slips into the back of the progression, carrying a paper lantern of his own. The backs of the heads bobbing in front of him are all unfamiliar. Just as well. Their footfalls integrate into a single rhythm that beats in his chest.

“You shouldn’t cut it so close next time,” says a voice to the left of Mondo.

“Huh?” Mondo glances to the side and then drops his gaze.

Red eyes on a round face stare up at him. “You really ought to have got here sooner, don’t you agree?”

The guy sounds like one of Mondo’s teachers, and Mondo hates everything to do with school. “What gave you that idea?”

“I saw you blunder down that hill in a way someone who was running late would,” explains the guy, and his hand mimes swimming dolphin. Or mimes blundering down a hill. “Your relatives would not like to be kept waiting, you know!”

Mondo rolls his shoulders back and trains his eyes straight ahead. “No one’s waiting for me. I’m going by myself.”

“Uh. Right. Well, you could have lost the spirit that you’re guiding with your recklessness!”

His remark plants a twitch in Mondo’s jaw and sets a fire behind Mondo’s eyes too hot for a summer’s night. “Shut up!”

“Excuse me?” the guy shouts, acting like Mondo had screamed ‘fuck!’ in his face and sprayed him with spit, and his vocalisation turns the heads of a few people in front of them.

A number of words pop into Mondo’s head that he could hurl at this guy, but Mondo just hisses out air and jerks his head in a slight tilt, not wanting any attention. Not this kind of attention, and not on his last night with his brother. The guy finally seems to realise that Mondo wants nothing to do with him and doesn’t say anything for a while, not as the group glides around the corner and not as the nearby river enters Mondo’s line of sight. Shortly after, the group disperses, spreading along the edge of the river.

Mondo finds a space and falls to one knee. Others place their lanterns into the water first, where they begin to float away. Apparently, people originated from the water so it makes sense to return them there once they die, but even Mondo knows the science behind where people really come from. Even so, he doesn’t let go of his lantern. Not yet.

“Who were you guiding?” the guys asks, having at some point wandered over to stand next to Mondo. Perhaps Mondo was the only person here similar in age to him. Perhaps the guy was ready for another round.

“My brother,” says Mondo, too sober now to shout, and he releases the lantern. Part of him wants to seize it before it goes too far, but he gulps and flicks his hand at it so it leaves his reach.

“Ours was my grandfather,” the guy replies.

“Oh. Mine was my brother.”

“You already said that.”

Mondo keeps quiet.

“Did he... pass recently?” asks the guy.

“Last year,” says Mondo, feeling a bit sick.

“My grandfather died not too long ago as well,” says the guy. He follows up with a silence that prompts Mondo to turn to look at him. A small smile pulls at the guy’s lips. “With him gone, it is up to me to restore honour to our family name.”

“Same here,” says Mondo, finally agreeing with him. Possibly. He meets the guy’s gaze. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“I’m Kiyotaka Ishimaru,” says the guy. “What about you?”

“Mondo Oowada,” says Mondo.

Kiyotaka squats down next to him. The lanterns bleed orange into the creased surface of the river.

 


	2. TogaFuka - Childhood Best Friends

Touko cannot see the eyes of the man who answers the door, who towers over not just her but Byakuya as well. Only when he tilts his head forward, peering down at them, does she catch a glimpse of his pale eyes. His eyes rest under sharp eyebrows that don’t look heavy but nonetheless sit barely over his eyes, eyes embedded in wrinkles accentuated by his frown. A shiver shoots down the back of Touko and her arms lock around her middle, clinging. The tall man may as well have been the same height as the mansion that she stands just outside of.

“Young Master,” says the tall man, monochrome, jacket and trousers black, shirt and hair white. He speaks a bit slower than most, sort of like a condescending teacher, hanging onto certain syllables until they plop off his tongue. Each word feels deliberated over. Careful. “Is this the girl in your class that you said you would be bringing home today?”

It sounds like an accusation. She hugs herself tighter.

“Yes,” says Byakuya. The girl beside him, with bruised knees and wiry hair, is indeed her. “We will be in my re-cray-shion room.”

“Ah, the playroom. Excellent choice. Shall I bring snacks?” asks the tall man.

“Don’t call it that. Yes,” replies Byakuya, and he grabs Touko’s hand and leads her into the mansion. A few steps in, her breath, no longer held, rushes out of her awed-into-an-o mouth, and she can’t choose just one place to fix her eyes on. She finds herself reminded of the expensive dolls houses that she saw in a toy museum once, that earned her a trip to the closet in her parents’ bedroom afterwards because she thought she had got lost and cried even when a lady stranger led her back to her parents. Here, she can’t get lost because Byakuya grasps her hand firmly and she has no intention of ever letting go - a cliche phrase from a budding writer such as herself.

Every hallway seems to branch off into several more. No conversation takes place during their trek. No conversation can. Byakuya’s house should be behind a viewing window, not enclosing her. She has to focus on where she sets down her feet and how, like too forceful a step might scuff the polished wooden floor, but then too light a step might make Byakuya misjudge his own footing and cause both of them to fall flat on their faces. From where she is in relation to the mansion, she can pretend that she is in a castle from a fairytale, which would make Byakuya a prince. Her prince. And she would be his princess.

A creak, from the door, ahead of Byakuya, ahead of them, brings Touko out of her thoughts. He pulls the door open and releases her hand. Touko can feel his warmth on her palm for a few seconds, and she closes her hand into a fist when the feeling begins to fade.

The playroom doesn’t contain toys or even a box that might contain toys but then again, her bedroom doesn’t really have any of those things either. No. There is an armchair that must be too big for Byakuya, despite his impressive height for an eight year old, and there are two conjoining walls lined with shelves of books. A desk sits in one corner, garnished with a few sheets of paper, and there is a stepladder nearby too.

“You can read near me,” says Byakuya. “As long as you washed and dried your hands first.”

“I d-did,” she pipes up, hating her stutter. She shows him her hands and wiggles her fingers.

Their level of cleanliness satisfies him. Byakuya removes a book from a low shelf and seats himself on the armchair. Touko wanders over to where he got his book from. Her hands fidget as she dithers about which book to read. Some of them are quite adult, with uncommon words that she wouldn’t know she was mispronouncing until years later. She selects one with faded text on its dark blue cover and sits by Byakuya’s feet. The book turns out to be about the principles of physical geography. Maybe Byakuya would learn about this at his new school in Europe next year.

Touko chooses to trip over unfamiliar terminology and concepts, rather than think anything more about next year.

When she flips to the fifth page of the book, the door opens. In comes the tall man, with a tray of castella cubes and orange squash. He leaves it on the armrest of Byakuya’s chair and exits without a word.

“Let’s eat,” says Byakuya when they’re alone again. “I don’t want crumbs everywhere so sit next to me and eat over the tray.”

She springs to her feet and joins him on the armchair, the tray resting on both their laps. Byakuya lets her stay next to him even after the cake has been eaten and despite the fact that she isn’t reading anymore. His shoulder is more comfortable than her pillow back at home and so is the armrest that he later leans her body toward with a nudge.


	3. TogaFuka - High School Popular Kid / Nerd

“I can’t tell if he’s really popular or the complete opposite,” remarks Aoi, staring across the cafeteria at Byakuya. He eats his lunch at another table, alone.

Touko follows her gaze as do the other two seated at their table. A flutter develops high in Touko’s chest and she hunches her shoulders, hands clasped together under her chin and grin small but strong, pulling at her cheeks.

“He must be popular,” says Sayaka. She delves her chopsticks into her vegetable pickle-salad and extracts a ribbon of cabbage and a fragment of carrot. Along with cucumber, which isn’t a vegetable but still makes up part of the salad, that section of her bento contains three c’s. After she swallows, no one else has spoken so she takes it upon herself to renew the conversation. “Togami-kun has that kind of aura to him, don’t you think? It makes you feel like only certain people are allowed to go near him.”

Kyouko brings a thin slice of yakibuta to her lips. Now, only one slice sits on top of her bowl of ramen.

“I don’t see it that way,” says Kyouko.

“Huh?” goes Sayaka.

“Togami-kun gives the impression that he doesn’t want any company. Personally, it gives me no desire to try to approach him or even want to,” says Kyouko with a lack of interest that both pleases and offends Touko.

Aoi taps her chin with her index finger. “So you think he’s really unpopular?”

That, however, doesn’t both please and offend Touko. It just offends her.

“O-Of course he’s not unpopular!” says Touko, words tripping up her throat in her haste to usher them out. Aoi flinches but can still talk just moments later.

“To be popular, don’t you have to be liked by a lot of people?” says Aoi. She gestures toward Sayaka. “For example, everyone likes Maizono-chan.”

Sayaka’s lips part within seconds, showing teeth in a wide smile, and she averts her eyes. The sweet quality of her act tastes sour on Touko’s tongue and she glares at Sayaka, who bathes in Aoi’s statement even as Aoi continues to speak.

“So Maizono-chan is popular, right? But not a lot of people like Togami, so he can’t be popular,” says Aoi.

Touko lets out a whine and slouches forward. Her fingers slip into her hair, elbows on the table. “Your drivel is giving me a headache!”

Aoi wiggles in her chair. “Just because you like him a whole lot, doesn’t make him popular!”

Another whine.

“I like him,” says Sayaka. Touko stiffens.

“You like everyone,” Aoi points out and Touko relaxes a tiny bit. She remains in the same position though.

The general mumble of the cafeteria threatens to usurp their conversation.

Kyouko saves them. “I know that several people have tried to confess to Togami-kun.”

Touko straightens up with a jolt. “W-What? When? Recently?”

“None were successful,” says Kyouko. “According to Naegi-kun, Togami-kun has a group of people who throw away all the valentines that he receives.”

“So people do like him,” says Aoi in a thoughtful tone.

“W-Well, that’s understandable!” says Touko furiously. “Byakuya-sama is smart, handsome, i-irresistable... of course there are people who would recognise and acknowledge and even... appreciate many of his attributes, but that doesn’t mean they’re entitled to reciprocation! Or that any of them are even in his league...”

Aoi touches her hand to the front of her neck. “Do you listen to yourself?”

“He isn’t one to indulge people for the sake of it. Byakuya-sama only invests in opportunities that he sees promise in, that he will get something out of, that - ”

Byakuya clears his throat.

Touko twitches and whips her head around. She looks up, up the buttons on his shirt to the knot of his tie to his subtle frown to his blue, blue eyes.

“Byakuya-sama!” says Touko. There probably ought to be more to her sentence than that but she leaves her exclamation as it is.

“I heard you all the way from my table,” Byakuya says. He grimaces. “As did half the cafeteria.”

“Ah, s-shall I sew my noisy mouth shut?” asks Touko. Aoi and Sayaka exchange concerned looks. A smile melts onto Touko’s face and her tone loses its strained quality. “O-Or you could... close my mouth with your mouth?”

“That’s vile,” he says, and anyone else would have got a ruder reply if they said that to him. “Just... keep it down, all right?”

“All right.”

Byakuya turns, about to go, but takes only a few steps. “Don’t be late for your lesson later. I don’t like to be kept waiting. Si tu comportes, nous baiserons dans mon chambre.”

“Je suis déjà tout mouillée,” she replies.

He goes now.

When he has gone far enough, Sayaka says, “Lesson?”

“He is teaching me French in exchange for some copy-editing,” explains Touko and as much as she wants to say more, she keeps her promise to him and falls silent.


	4. KuzuPeko - Partners in Crime

Fuyuhiko punches the haystack substituting for a desk, glaring at Peko who kneels opposite him, her back straight and her eyes trained forward. She stays still, does nothing else, just stays still, and it probably infuriates him more.

His eyes flash wider. He clenches his jaw. It does infuriate him more.

“No,” Fuyuhiko says, and he drinks a large draught of beer. The aluminium can crackles, crumpling in his grip, and crackles again as he slackens his hold. With slightly less force than he used when he slammed his fist against the haystack, Fuyuhiko sets down the can. Liquid sloshes within the container. He doesn’t move his hand off it. Again, he says, “No.”

And then,

“Fuck no.”

Peko breathes in, keeping her expression the same.

“I fear Enoshima will not leave you alone until you agree,” says Peko.

Fuyuhiko pulls a face and clutches the beer can harder. It rasps, strangled, but she doesn’t take her eyes off his face. He looks to his right, not focusing on anything in particular inside of the barn. Gaps between wooden panels two-toned with brown and rot, suggest the time of day to be morning, a grey morning with a glow that gives the illusion of white and creates a light haze in Peko’s vision. They will have to leave soon. Otherwise they will be discovered.

“We don’t need her,” he says, close to a mumble.

She doesn’t interject. Her fingers curl against her lap, hiding under her palms. Fuyuhiko drags his hand up his face and when his hand reaches his forehead, he leans into his palm. His elbow sinks only slightly into the haystack.

“We’ve been doing great without her,” says Fuyuhiko. “Remember that corner shop we robbed yesterday? Nailed it.”

“Barely,” Peko admits before she can think about her answer. Even so, petty theft at a corner shop is no diamond heist.

Peko’s statement draws his eyes back toward her, burning invisible lines all the way to her face.

“So you want to work under her?” Fuyuhiko asks, squinting at Peko. He inhales another mouthful of beer while she considers her words. His eyes remain narrowed. Lips remain contorted.

“I will work with you,” she says. Her gaze dips, breaking eye contact, and she looks at his sneer now. “That is the duty to which I am bound.”

Fuyuhiko flicks his wrist in a half-hearted wave and snarls, “Kazutaka Kodaka, Peko, haven’t we gone through this enough times already? We’re partners. Equals. I’m not the leader of anything anymore. You can fuck off whenever you want just like the others did.”

Her lips press together, squeezing flat.

“And you know what? I like it this way. With just the two of us,” Fuyuhiko says. She meets his eyes again. Dark rings hang under Fuyuhiko’s eyes. “Less people to keep tabs on... Less people who’ll screw up or leave you for some big boobied wannabe oyabun...”

At that moment, Peko remembers years ago, when they were stranded on the mountains somewhere. The two of them, him and her. Fuyuhiko cried because Peko shivered too much and led him around in too many circles and because she took too long responding to his questions with vague promises. They had been young then but they are young now too, and they are cold and filthy and hungry.

“We don’t need her,” says Peko, alluding to Junko Enoshima, and she is tired enough to almost believe herself.


	5. KomaHina - College Roommates

Shortly after Hajime’s university assigns him housing, it sends him an email informing him of his future roommate’s identity. The email gives a name and an email address but nothing else. He rereads the email with a frown, lingering on the email address of the guy who would share a room with him for the next year. His name is Nagito Komaeda and his email address begins with ‘KoAdhocHope’.

Now, Hajime dedicated a lot of time and effort into passing the entrance exam, so he wants to get off to a good start from the moment he steps into his new accommodation. In order to do this, he decides to scope out all he can about this Nagito guy first. If they have spoken to each other prior to moving in together, then they can agree on who should bring what to add to their sufficiently furnished room. Omitting from this discussion poses too great a risk. What if they both take a television with them but neither bring toilet paper? It’s an unnecessary gamble. Also, if they discuss matters beforehand, they could colour coordinate their room, and Hajime can’t deny that exploring the campus with someone who isn’t a complete stranger has its appeal too.

Hajime opens another tab on his internet browser and logs onto his facebook account. During his studies, he somewhat neglected it. He hadn’t became a recluse and abstained from all activities outside of school; he still went out with friends once a week and met, courted and married Chiaki Nanami in a single sitting of his favourite dating sim, but his virtual farm needed tending to and he didn’t want to see the state of his Animal Crossing town. If only he chose the ‘Keep Town Beautiful’ ordinance.

Regret creases his brow for a few seconds but Hajime perseveres and moves his computer mouse. Life must go on.

It turns out that Nagito only has one friend on facebook and a single image uploaded - a photograph of a five leaf clover. His friend, Mikan Tsumiki, seems more popular, with a friend list into the double digits. She smiles softly at Hajime, holding a loose fist to her mouth, purple hair choppy. Hajime reluctantly exits out of the tab and decides that he should email Nagito directly.

***

Nagito Komaeda,

Hey, I’m Hajime Hinata. We’re going to be roommates and I was hoping that I could get to know a bit about you before we meet in person. What are you going to be studying? I’ll be studying philosophy. I own a mini fridge that I wouldn’t mind sharing.

Reply soon!

Hajime Hinata

***

To Hajime’s frustration, he doesn’t receive a response and by the time he unpacks half of his belongings in his new room, only knows that Nagito doesn’t check his emails regularly. This most certainly isn’t a good start.

A knock on the door distracts him from his suitcase, which has his phone charger in it somewhere, and he gets up to answer the door.

“Hey,” says the guy in the doorway. He wears a long green jacket that doesn’t fit properly, too baggy, but then again, the guy might just be too thin. His hair resembles a cloud in both shape and colour, white and fluffy, and it reaches his shoulders. The guy’s skin is almost as pale as his hair, and so are his grey-green eyes and the smile that he offers Hajime. “You must be Hajime Hinata...”

A pause.

“Or a burglar,” muses the guy.

Hajime can’t think of what to say in response to that. Not right away.

“I’m Hajime Hinata,” says Hajime. “Your roommate.”

“Ah, so you’re not a random burglar. That’s a relief. The only thing I have worth stealing are my clothes, and it would be embarrassing if I had to attend class without them. My name is Nagito Komaeda.”

Nagito twitches his hand in a small wave.

A few seconds pass while Hajime processes the conversation so far. “I emailed you a couple of months ago but you didn’t reply.”.

“Hm? Oh, my bad,” says Nagito. He rubs the back of his head, grinning too much for someone who should be feeling guilty. “My phone doesn’t work half the time... not since the giraffe incident.”

Beaming from ear to ear, Nagito holds out his hand. Hajime hesitates, wanting to ask about the giraffe incident, but it would be awkward if Nagito stood with his hand held out for much longer so Hajime seizes it.

Their hands bob up and down twice before Nagito’s hand detaches from the rest of Nagito’s arm.

“What the Hell!” says Hajime. He lets go of Nagito’s hand. It falls to the floor.

Nagito bursts out laughing and doubles over. His laugh hits a few high notes that shoot chills through Hajime. “Ah, don’t worry! It’s fake. I thought that would make a good icebreaker. Here, lend me a hand and pick it up.”

He splutters, laughing again, hugging his middle with the arm that has a hand showing.

Hajime looks down and bends over to pick up the fake hand. Though Nagito seems like a ridiculous guy, Hajime finds himself smiling, a bit more at ease.


	6. TogaFuka - Lab Partners

About halfway into the chemistry lesson, which they don’t have in their usual classroom but in a room with work benches instead of desks, Byakuya’s teacher claps his hands together and says, “All right, I think you guys have done enough sitting around. It’s time for some practical work. In pairs, you will be finding out the formula of copper oxide.”

Byakuya recalls carrying out an experiment that had the same purpose, that he did at his previous high school. He hadn’t required a partner for it though, and he doesn’t join the rest of his class in glancing at each other as they try to signal to their friends with widening eyes and nods that they should pair up for the experiment. Strictly speaking, not everyone does this. Kiyotaka watches their teacher with rapt attention and Kyouko jots down some notes in her notebook. From what Byakuya knows about Touko, which he considers more than he cares to know, she drills holes into his back with her dirty grey eyes that in the right lighting, can deceive others into believing they are actually violet.

“Won’t the formula be in the periodic table or something?” asks Leon, leaning back on his chair with his index finger in one ear.

“Copper oxide is a compound, not an element, so it won’t be.”

Obviously. Byakuya rolls his eyes.

Leon wiggles the finger that he stuck in his ear as if screwing it in. “It’ll be somewhere in the text book, right?”

The more Leon talks, the more Byakuya wants to pull out his own hair, and his frustration is shared by others. Across the room, Kiyotaka holds his breath, face flushing from the effort of refraining from speaking without being called on.

Their teacher ignores Leon’s second question and swipes his finger across the trackpad on his laptop, clicking once or twice, and then the interactive whiteboard switches on. It requires a moment to adjust. Words emerge from the fuzziness, creating sentences. A list of equipment and instructions form on the whiteboard, legible now, that Byakuya skims through. He holds a pen in one hand but doesn’t use it.

“I’m going to assign everyone a partner for this experiment,” says their teacher, and he pauses, anticipating the groan that does indeed resonate. Byakuya doesn’t contribute to the groan, not caring who he is paired with because he won’t need them anyway. Their teacher points at different students, bobbing his finger, hopping around the class until his finger lands in Byakuya’s direction. “Togami-kun, you’ll be working with Fukawa-kun.”

Touko inhales an unnecessary gasp.

“It should only take you ten to twenty minutes, I reckon,” says their teacher. He cranks an egg timer and sets it on his desk.

Chairs creak and scrape across the floor as everyone rises. Byakuya doesn’t hear Touko move so he twists around on his chair to face her. Like in their homeroom, she sits directly behind him.

“Shall I get the apparatus?” she asks.

“We can’t heat the copper oxide otherwise, so yes,” he replies.

“O-Of course! That’s absolutely right,” she says, and she hurries over to where the rest of the class have gathered. Other pairs distribute the equipment but Touko returns to his workbench with her arms full, everything but the copper oxide now in front of him.

Byakuya weighs the reaction tube and bung on a balance and writes down their weights in a table that he quickly draws. When done with that, he puts down his pen and picks up the reaction tube, which is a test tube with a small hole near the closed end, and holds it out toward Touko. She merely stares at it.

“It needs two spatulas of copper oxide in it,” he says.

“Oh!” Touko catches on and takes the reaction tube from him.

He clicks his tongue. She leaves on another trip, this time to retrieve the copper oxide.

While Touko busies herself with that, he straps on his goggles and assembles the retort stand, and he is drumming his fingers on the workbench by the time she comes back.

“Here,” she says, giving him the reaction tube, now with black powder in it.

Byakuya weighs the reaction tube and the bung again without a word and clamps the tube to the stand. He plugs the bung into the bigger opening of the reaction tube and turns on the methane tap, which feeds methane through a thin tube into the reaction tube.

Touko lights the Bunsen burner. Once Byakuya decides that all of the air in the reaction tube has been pushed out, he uses a splint to start a fire by the tube’s small hole.

“You will need to move the Bunsen burner to ensure it heats all of the copper oxide,” he says.

She lifts the Bunsen burner carefully and does so. Her hands shake a bit so he reaches over to take it from her. Their hands brush together, a bit of physical contact that Byakuya notices.

“You did well,” he says, giving credit where credit is due.

Colour creeps across her cheeks. “T-Thank you, Byakuya-sama!”

Byakuya hesitates, not used to being called by his first name. Most people refer to him with his family name, including himself. As they should. He doesn’t know whether to correct her or let her continue to call him that. His insides quiver. What a strange girl. What a bold girl. What an interesting girl.

Ultimately, he presses his lips together, trying not to smile.

Her eyes do look kind of violet.


	7. NaeGiri - Boss/Intern

Nothing in the job description of the internship that Makoto currently serves hinted at espionage yet he finds himself in a restricted area, in a room at the back of the café, slouching slightly on a hard chair with the chef to his left and one of the waitresses to his right. Their boss stands in front of the three of them, next to a whiteboard that has ‘IDEAS’ written in blue near the top.

“I want to thank you all for coming in early today,” says their boss, Kyouko Kirigiri, who, on this rare occasion, speaks louder than her black heels when they clack against the wooden flooring. Her voice dies away, leaving a buzz that could either be the ceiling fan in need of adjusting or a product of Makoto’s imagination.

The chef, Teruteru, stifles a yawn. His eyes water a bit as he waves a hand dismissively. “It’s not a problem at all, though I am drowsy... but if I were to be given a refreshing drink, then I would be more awake. Something warm and sweet, I reckon. A nectar of some kind would be best, perhaps served by our very own Kirigiri-san. Hm?”

Kyouko twacks the whiteboard with her pen. Makoto and Teruteru both flinch.

Teruteru soon relaxes with a growing smile. “Oh ho,” he says. “So feisty this morning...! Chili from the Kirigiri.”

“In her last investigation,” says Kyouko loudly, and Teruteru pouts, “Koizumi-san discovered that the Whispering Pen has added a new blend to their menu.”

Mahiru Koizumi, the only waitress attending the meeting, nods. Makoto has only worked here for two weeks but he knows enough by now to deduce that Ibuki and Yasuhiro are still at home, most likely asleep.

“It’s not just the refreshments either,” says Mahiru. “Togami has all of his staff dressed in suits. Even that Yamada guy looks like someone I wouldn’t mind bringing home, and Touko-chan and Sonia-chan pull off a style that’s both cute and cool!”

“Do my ears deceive me? Togami-kun, Fukawa-san and Sonia-san all wearing suits? I will need photographic evidence,” says Teruteru, hand over his heart. A few seconds later, he cups his chin, finally looking serious. “From what I could tell, their new blend uses Brazilian Santos as a base. With an almost perfect combination of sweetness and bitterness, the latter being the most dominant flavour and the former the most submissive, it leaves you with an aftertaste that intrigues and pulls you in for more. Also, it contains a hint of chocolate, unless that is just Koizumi-san’s backwash, in which case I would need to probe her mouth with my tongue or another long and sensitive instrument of mine to confirm whether it actually contains any chocolate...”

“Hey, knock it off!” says Mahiru. She twists her body around, angling herself toward Teruteru but remaining seated.

Unfortunately, Makoto sits between them, so he acts as a shield for Teruteru and cowers a bit, bending under Mahiru’s intensity like a burning piece of paper that curls in on itself. Teruteru receives the edge of her anger’s heat and basks in it.

“It’s talk like that which keeps customers away! No girl wants to have lunch in a smutty place, hearing things like that from you,” says Mahiru.

“Hanamura-kun,” says Kyouko with a glare, “I’ve warned you that any further incidents of harassment and I will be forced to relieve you of your services, regardless of the fact that you are this city’s finest chef.”

Teruteru’s chair creaks beneath him as his body gives a jerk. “My apologies! It won’t happen again, I swear.”

Mahiru folds her arms over her chest but seems pacified. Not exactly happy, with her head tilted to one side and her eyes narrowed, but pacified enough to keep quiet.

Makoto finds his voice. “We’re not really in competition with the Whispering Pen, are we? They’re a book shop.”

“At their core, yes,” says Kyouko. She turns her head toward him. “But ever since they incorporated a café into their business, they have been attracting some of our customer base.”

“It’s nothing more than a gimmick,” says Mahiru.

“Quite right!” goes Teruteru. He jabs the air with his index finger. “It makes a mockery of all fine cuisine everywhere! Here, I cook with passion and love, and I pour my fervour, my sweat into each meal, and I strain myself of all other fluids in order to strike that resonant key in a person’s soul like tapping a lover’s pleasure button. There is no intimacy in that shop’s café. No feeling. If we had our own gimmick, I’m certain that we would attract more customers.”

“Huh? Our own gimmick? Like what?” asks Mahiru, grimacing.

“Like a book shop.”

“Seriously?” she says. “You’re not subtle at all.”

“I said ‘like’ a book shop,” Teruteru points out. “We need our own unique flare, of course. We could all dress as cats, or hire handsome men in loincloths... Leave it to me, I’ll hook you up.”

“We’re not doing that,” says Kyouko, but her brow furrows in thought.

Makoto’s hands clench into fists against his lap.

“We don’t need a gimmick,” he pipes up. Mahiru and Teruteru watch him as he speaks. Kyouko tenses, listening. “The appeal of this café, to me, is how it feels like a second home. If we stick to the charm we already have and stay true to ourselves, then things will work out. It’s like Hanamura-kun said... this place feels personalised and I know if I wanted a coffee to match my mood, I can come to this place and not be let down.”

“He said all that?” asks Mahiru. “To be honest, I zoned out through most of what he said.”

Teruteru gasps.

“I mean, I think he said something like that,” admits Makoto, and he glances away.

Teruteru’s hand shoots up to his chest, heart stabbed twice within a short time frame.

“Naegi-kun,” says Kyouko. Makoto makes eye contact with her. She smiles. “Though you would run a business bankrupt with that kind of talk, your optimism is inspiring. I believe that if we work together to emphasise the image that we already have, we will succeed. Perhaps we should keep you on after your internship ends...”

“Thanks,” Makoto says. He hesitates. “I think.”


	8. KiriZono - Knocking on the Wrong Door

By the time Kyouko’s fist flops against the door, night has long since fallen and settled itself comfortably over the city. The first thing that she plans to do once Makoto lets her inside is sleep. They can catch up in the morning, when her legs don’t feel like they will buckle underneath her if she takes any more steps forward. Though she managed to navigate her way through the city despite the number of delays and out of service rail routes that cropped up, her body had not been prepared for the unexpected extra effort. Her line of work requires some level of fitness but her heart pounds and her breathing pulls at her heaving chest as she waits for the door to open.

Open it does, after some time, but given the time of day, Makoto had probably given up and gone to bed... except, the person who tenses and stares at her is not Makoto Naegi.

“Can I help you?” asks the person, a girl in a pale pink vest top and jeans shorts.

Kyouko lowers her gaze. “Sorry, I must have the wrong address.”

“Huh?”

“I’m supposed to be at 21 Gundham Close,” says Kyouko, and she searches through her satchel for her purse. Then, she rifles through her purse for the scrap of paper that she wrote the address on. While Kyouko double checks, using the light of the girl’s entrance hall so she can read it, the girl waits patiently. “Yes, that’s right. 21 Gundham Close.”

“Let me see,” says the girl. Kyouko passes her the note. “Ah, I see what happened... This is 21 Gundam Close. Without the ‘h’. Don’t worry, it’s an easy mistake to make.”

But a mistake all the same.

“Are you saying that there exists both a Gundam Close without a ‘h’ and a Gundham Close with a ‘h’?” asks Kyouko with a frown.

The girl shrugs her shoulders, grinning. “Maybe,” she replies. She holds out her hand. “By the way, I’m Sayaka Maizono.”

Kyouko eyes her hand, but she decides to take it and they shake. “Kyouko Kirigiri.”

“Nice to meet you, Kyouko Kirigiri,” says Sayaka Maizono.

“It’s a pleasure shared. I apologise for disturbing you at such a late hour.” Kyouko’s hand falls away and she starts to turn, aware of the heat creeping onto her face. “Thank you for your hel - ”

Sayaka seizes Kyouko’s hand.

“Not so fast,” says Sayaka with a firm grip that Kyouko hadn’t anticipated, that she hadn’t expected from someone with such a slim and dainty figure. “Do you know where you’re going?”

Kyouko raises her free hand and strokes her ear, from front to back. “I have a map in my bag.”

“I’m sorry but I can’t let you wander off at this time of night,” says Sayaka and when Kyouko meets her eyes, she sees that Sayaka has stopped smiling.

“Are you inviting me in?” asks Kyouko.

“I am,” Sayaka confirms, brow ever so slightly furrowed.

“I don’t want to intrude...” starts Kyouko, but a sharp tug from Sayaka prevents her from finishing the rest of the sentence.

“You won’t be,” Sayaka assures her as she leads Kyouko inside. She finally releases Kyouko’s hand and walks further in, still talking. “The other person who I share this house with is seeing her boyfriend in America, so it’s just going to be us two tonight. Gosh, it’s just like one of those sleepovers on television, isn’t it?”

Kyouko bends her knees and unzips her boots, taking them off before going after Sayaka. To find her gracious host, Kyouko simply follows the sound of Sayaka’s voice, and Kyouko finds herself in the kitchen. The cabinets are predominantly wooden and the flat surfaces speckled stone.

Sayaka has her back to Kyouko as she pours a small amount of water from an electric kettle into two cups. By now, Sayaka’s voice has shifted into a hum.

“Don’t you think you should be more wary about letting strangers into your house like this?” asks Kyouko, standing in the doorway.

“I’m very good at reading people and I know you’re someone who needs my assistance,” says Sayaka. She looks over her shoulder. “Also, do you like matcha green tea?

“I do, thank you,” replies Kyouko. Sayaka turns her head forward. Kyouko strides over and watches Sayaka mix the water in the cups with green powder, until they combine into a paste that Sayaka adds more water to.

Soon, the two cups of matcha green tea are ready for consumption, and the girls sit on stools by the counter in the centre of the kitchen, drinking slowly.

“You can sleep in my bed,” says Sayaka all of a sudden, though sleeping arrangements would have had to come up at some point. “My housemate doesn’t like people going into her room so I’ll do it, and it sometimes smells a bit... unwelcoming.”

“Thank you,” says Kyouko.

“Um... do you trust me?”

Kyouko glances up.

Sayaka diverts her eyes to her lap. “I mean, I’m a stranger too... You’re not worried that I’ll try something sinister, are you?”

“... No, I don’t think you’re that sort of person,” says Kyouko, and she pauses to drink some tea. “I’m also good at reading people. It comes with the job.”

“What’s your job?”

“Detective work.”

“Wow!” says Sayaka with genuine emotion. “That’s so cool. Please...”

Sayaka places her hand over Kyouko’s.

“... tell me more.”

“I suppose I could,” says Kyouko, heart pounding, but now not so much because of her trek around the city.


	9. TogaFuka - Meeting Again at a High School Reunion

Today marks the fifth year anniversary of Byakuya’s graduation from Hope’s Peak Academy and will be his first visit to the school since that day. Makoto organised the reunion according to the informal tone of the invitation and the signature scrawled at the bottom, and Byakuya read the letter in his office, pausing from sipping his luwak coffee, pile of paperwork by his elbow. Initially, he stuck up his nose. As the new head of the Togami Conglomerate, he had many obligations and responsibilities and many better things to do than take time off to fly to his old school. However, thoughts of the oncoming event lingered at the back of his mind for the next few days, and he decided that it would be charitable if he graced them all with his attendance. None of them had seen him for half a decade and this gave them opportunity to see him again in all of his glory, and so he responded to the letter with confirmation of his attendance.

Just outside the front gate, Byakuya spots several students on the other side milling about on the school grounds. As expected. With today being the third of March, lessons would still be going on. Byakuya opens the gate and ignores everyone on his way to the main building.

A noticeboard inside the entrance hall has pinned to it a list of names with check boxes beside them. He strides over and finding his name, marks his box with a tick. Handwritten text at the bottom of the list informs him that the gymnasium is where the reunion is taking place but before he heads over there, he skims through the names to see who already arrived. Makoto Naegi. Sayaka Maizono. Kiyotaka Ishimaru. Of course that guy would be one of the first here. Touko Fukawa.

Touko Fukawa. Byakuya spends longest on that name, running his tongue over his teeth.

Soon, he becomes conscious of the fact he is standing by the noticeboard for longer than necessary, so he slips his pen back into the inner pocket of his jacket and makes his way toward the gymnasium. Memory serves him well, preventing him from getting lost. He recognises the gentle green glow of the hallway, bathed in that hue because green symbolises youth and health and good luck and some other nonsense. The light shifts into yellow not far from the lobby of the gym, a colour of joy and happiness and friendship. Those adjectives were what the staff used all those years ago, anyway.

Byakuya opens the door to the lobby, passes by cabinets containing trophies and antiques and he draws apart the double doors to the gym. He inhales a rose fragrance that doesn’t totally mask the stench of sweat and wrinkles his nose.

Kiyotaka catches sight of him first. “Togami!” he calls out, as loud as ever but with no honorific. His exclamation attracts the attention of the others. Sayaka smiles and waves and Makoto smiles and nods, and Touko’s head jerks up and she almost drops the chair that she is carrying.

“We’re still setting up,” explains Makoto, with a chair tucked under his arm. His foot moves, squeaking against the wooden flooring. Byakuya glances at the arc of chairs in the centre of the gym that seems to be the start of the circumference of a circle. The rest of the chairs are stacked against the wall to Byakuya’s left, waiting to be put in place.

“Do you want a drink?” blurts Touko.

Finally, something relevant to him. “Luwak coffee,” says Byakuya. He lifts his chin slightly, staring at her. “I drink it only if it has been prepared in a certain way so I’ll be coming with you to supervise the process.”

“You like it brewed in a saucepan... and have done ever since you first tried it,” Touko tells him, walking over. She sets down her chair along the way.

“Correct,” Byakuya says.

Sayaka touches her fingers to her lips. “We are allowed to use the kitchens, but I don’t know if they have any luwak coffee in stock...”

“None of you have to worry for I brought my own supply,” says Byakuya. Touko reaches him and together, they embark on their trip to the kitchens.

Neither speak in the lobby to the gym and they cross over from yellow light to green light in silence. Byakuya doesn’t mind the lack of conversation so leaves the choice of whether they have one or not to Touko, which he will either contribute to or refuse to acknowledge depending on the subject.

Only she doesn’t start a conversation, not even by the time they stand at one of the stoves in the kitchen. The chefs give them a small section of the kitchen to use and the room smells of curry rice. Touko fetches a saucepan from a cabinet to put onto one of the stove rings and takes the bag of beans that Byakuya then holds out toward her. This way of brewing the coffee requires fifteen minutes and a keen eye to ensure that it doesn’t boil for too long, as well as frequent stirring.

Byakuya breaks the silence between them with a question. “What have you been up to?” he asks.

She pushes the beans around the saucepan with a spatula. “Writing.”

“You published your I-Novel,” he remarks, watching her. He can only see one side of her face due to how they are angled. “I read it.”

Touko gives a small smile. “Did you enjoy it?”

“I found it interesting and well-written, to the point that I read many of your other publications despite them being vastly different to what I typically read. There were parts of your I-Novel that detailed things I wasn’t aware of which I now know about you,” he says.

Her smile grows and she can’t meet his eyes, like his praise reverted Touko into a shy schoolgirl who has just been complimented on by her crush. Something that he recognises. Remembers.

For no particular reason, he sneaks a look at her hand and notices that she isn’t wearing a ring.

“You’re not married?” he asks.

Touko’s smile fades a bit. “No... I mean, I have dated and I was even engaged, once, but I’m single... for now.”

She peeks at him.

“What about you, Togami? Are you single still?”

“Togami...?” Byakuya needs a moment but tries not to make it obvious. He nudges up his glasses with two fingers. “Of course I am. I’m too busy for such silly things.”

“Oh,” she says, and she focuses on the saucepan.

“I will be married to the mother of the child that becomes my heir,” he tells her, leaning his hip against the counter next to the stove. “There is still quite some time until I have to even consider supplying my DNA to exclusive Togami-run clinics.”

“It sounds impersonal,” she says.

“As it should be.”

“If you say so.”

Byakuya stiffens and widens his eyes. Then he narrows them and folds his arms over his chest.

“I assume that you courted men for reasons to do with love,” he says.

“I dated other people with that in mind,” she replies. “None of them could ever live up to my expectations...”

“What about me?”

Touko hesitates.

“You were the exception,” she says. “I mean, you still are, but no one was, is, in your league, not even me...”

“Certainly not with that attitude,” he says.

“Huh?”

“If something or someone is valuable to you, is it not worth the effort trying to obtain it or them?” he asks. “This cowardly behaviour doesn’t seem like you at all... For all of your life, you have persevered and fought on, despite what other people believed you capable of, and you battled against their negative perceptions of you. Obstacles littered your path but you overcame them and became a renowned writer. Someone like you could sway the views of millions, perhaps even someone like myself... ”

She stares at him, brow furrowed. “Togami?”

He raises a hand, pretending the warmth that has spread across his cheeks doesn’t exist. “Stop. It sounds strange coming from you. Call me Byakuya.”

The creases on her face melt away. Her smile resurfaces. “Y-Yes, Byakuya...”


	10. NaeGiri - Two Miserable People Meeting at a Wedding

Had the wedding been a traditional Shinto ceremony hosted at a shrine or perhaps the same hotel that the guests would arrive at later for post-wedding celebrations, then Makoto might only have had to attend the reception party. Close though he is to the bride, he doesn’t know whether he can label himself as a member of Touko’s family. Back in junior high, just referring to Touko as his friend made her lose her concentration and walk face first into a lamp post. Makoto’s sister, Komaru, treats Touko like a sibling by now, going from peeping into Makoto’s bedroom in case they were kissing to braiding Touko’s hair and loudly encouraging her to just try to perform a cartwheel in the front garden. The one time Touko relented, much like the lamp post incident aforementioned, her glasses ended up in two pieces.

Anyway, if the wedding had been a Shinto ceremony, Makoto possibly wouldn’t have had to go to it but Touko and her husband, Byakuya Togami, settled on a more western wedding not limited to only close family members. Don’t get the wrong idea. Makoto gladly travelled by train to a hotel and later sat in a Christian church with no complaints. In the front row, Komaru sat with the other bridesmaids, both siblings here for the bride, and they watched Touko glide down the aisle in a white fairytale dress. The couple exchanged rings and said their ‘I do’s and Touko dipped her husband for a kiss.

That all happened more than four hours ago. Now, seated around a circular table, only knowing Komaru, Makoto fidgets while conversation rumbles around him. Komaru distracts herself with her phone, holding it under the table and tapping away on the screen. He brought his phone and can feel it pressing against his leg in his pocket, but he can’t stoop to whipping out his phone at the table. It would be rude.

His stomach rumbles. Food won’t be served until Touko and Byakuya return from getting changed into different outfits. Embarrassed, Makoto looks up from his lap, and by chance he meets the eyes of a woman a quarter-circle away from him. Lavender hair frames her pale face and her purple eyes lock onto his hazel pair, maintaining eye contact, like she expects him to say something.

Makoto inhales a shallow breath.

Here goes.

“I can’t wait to eat,” he blurts.

Komaru’s lips contort into a smirk.

He could kick himself but that would make him seem even weirder to this woman who wears a braid on one side, tied with a white ribbon, who studies him with a slight frown. Judging by her face, which is basically all that Makoto has to go on for now, she is roughly his age. Definitely older than Komaru, four years his junior.

“I suspect food will be served after Touko-san and Togami return,” says the woman.

Makoto nods. “Y-Yeah.”

The awkward exchange would have trailed off after that but then Komaru glances up and opens her mouth.

“You weren’t one of the bridesmaids.”

“No, I wasn’t,” says the woman, turning to Komaru. Relief washes through him and Makoto breathes out quietly, slumping back in his chair. “I’ve known Togami since high school but I have only met Touko-san on a few occasions... and certainly never one-on-one.”

“We’ve never met this guy at all. I mean, Touko talked about him a lot and sent us pictures, but I don’t know what he’s like except that he rarely smiles,” says Komaru, tapping herself on the chin.

“Heh.” The woman flashes a small smile. “You’re not wrong.”

Makoto’s stomach quivers with a low whine. He cringes.

“What’s your name?” asks Komaru.

“Kyouko Kirigiri. I assume that you’re friends with Togami’s wife?”

Komaru’s grin widens. “Yep! We’re practically sisters, which would make Makoto over here her almost twin.” She jerks her thumb, gesturing toward him. “And I’m Komaru Naegi, by the way.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” says Kyouko with a curt nod.

That should have been the end of the conversation but again, Komaru speaks up.

“What about you? Are you planning on getting married?” asks Komaru.

“No, I’m not,” replies Kyouko.

“Are you single?”

“I’m not dating anyone, no.”

Komaru nods. “Same with my brother. Which is weird because he’s an Aquarius, and they’re known for being cool and collected and drawn to making the world a better place, and he likes curry and trendy things and his blood type is-”

Makoto realises Komaru’s ulterior motive and kicks her under the table.

“Hey!” Komaru yelps but she shuts up, though she does so too late. Byakuya and Touko return not much later and for the duration of the meal, Makoto refuses to look at Kyouko. Not while he eats seafood flavoured soup, leaving the dried tofu well alone, or while he chews his steak, or even while he eats the icing on the cake that he left for last.

Glasses clink, glasses of champagne bubbling like laughter. Cola in Komaru’s case. She still laughs though. Cutlery tings, none as loudly as Byakuya’s fork against his glass. All eyes fall onto him as he rises, blond hair swept back. Byakuya drawls as he gives a speech, thanking people Makoto doesn’t know apart from Touko, who blushes next to her husband, and then, then the lights dim and chairs scrape as people rise to their feet. Makoto stays sitting down.

“Let’s dance,” says Komaru. He feels her tug on his sleeve.

“You go ahead without me,” he says.

“Aw, come on! Also not being rude or anything but you’ll look weird sitting here by yourself.”

Before he can answer, Kyouko pipes up, “I’ll be sitting with him so it won’t look that weird.”

“Okay, do whatever,” says Komaru and she throws her hands up in defeat, easily swayed all of a sudden. Her hands lower gradually as she walks away.

A live orchestra warbles classical music.

“So... you like ‘trendy things’?” asks Kyouko with a small smile.

Makoto twitches in his seat. He turns to her and waves his hands. “Ah, I just like what’s popular, you know?”

Her smile disappears. Part of him wishes that Komaru was still here to save him.

“B-But, I mean, if something is popular, it can be popular for a good reason, right? And it means there are lots of people for me to talk to about the song or show or manga. That’s one of the funnest parts of liking something,” he tells her.

She merely blinks. The hole he has dug himself into gets deeper. His shoulders sink.

“To be honest, my only redeeming feature is my optimism,” he admits, but he doesn’t have much optimism at this moment. He expects his words to snap whatever shred of interest that Kyouko has left in him so she finally slinks away.

“Optimism is a very good feature to have,” she says. He looks back at her. She interlocks her fingers and rests her chin on them. Her lips twitch, smile promising to come back. “I’m a Libra.”

Everyone else dances around them for the rest of the evening.


	11. NaeGiri - Coffee Shop

Hifumi has his heart set on one girl in particular, a girl who works at the coffee shop closest to his home. They attend the same school. She is his age, roughly, but they aren’t in any of the same classes and not once has he struck up a conversation with her unrelated to iced mochas. In the lunch hall, she eats with a few others, accompanied usually by a redhead with a stern face that makes him think that she slaps hard, and a smaller, blonde girl who squashes peas under her fork with a twinkle in her eyes. Their school forbids students from having part time jobs but the girl works at the coffee shop closest to his home and she goes by the name of Celestia Ludenberg. Sometimes, not often but certainly more frequently these days, Hifumi packs his art supplies in his backpack and buys iced mocha at the coffee shop (because “We don’t serve cola, I’m afraid”), and he sits at a table in the corner and studies her from afar as subtly as he can. He draws her in his sketchbook, on several pages, using floral white for her skin and dark shades of blue for her hair.

Today, he will ask her out on a date. Today for sure. Today won’t end up like all the other days when he resolved to confess to her only to hurry away with a drink that he didn’t really like the taste of. No way. Really, as a girl, she should be confessing to him, but he suspects that she is a tsundere. After all, why else would she avert her eyes, features hardened into a bored expression as she listens to him stumble over words until she loudly greets the next customer? She could even be shy.

Hifumi pushes the door open. A familiar jingle sounds slightly above him. Celestia stands behind the coffee shop’s counter, chatting to a girl with lavender hair that falls most of the way down her back. He stands himself behind the customer and bobs on his toes as he waits for Celestia to give the girl her green tea frappi.

“Thank you,” says the girl with lavender hair. She jerks her head, trying to remove some hair from her face that she has to use a gloved hand for in the end, and she takes a seat at the booth that adjoins the counter.

“Greetings!” goes Hifumi as he steps up to the counter.

“Why, it’s you,” says Celestia with a tight smile. “Hajime Yasuke, wasn’t it?”

He wags his finger playfully. “I’m afraid you only earn an ‘Almost’ with that! I am the beginning and the end... Hifumi Yamada.”

“Oh, yes, silly me. Will you be having an iced mocha?”

Hifumi grins. “Affirmative! My, my... You have impressive deduction skills, Celes-dono! Don’t accept any drinks from anyone in the Black Organisation.”

She sets a hand over her heart. “I’m flattered but in this situation, I feel that it’s just that you are easy to read rather than me being skilled.”

His face glows. Celes must think about him as much as he thinks about her if she can read him so well. He clasps his hands together.

“We have quite a backlog of drinks to prepare so if you would, please find a space and it’ll be delivered to you shortly,” she says.

“Eh? But there is hardly anyone here,” Hifumi points out, separating his hands so he can rub the length of his index finger against the underside of his nose.

Celes looks at her surroundings. “Hm?”

He holds his breath.

“Are you saying I’m wrong?” she asks, fixing her red eyes onto him.

A chill shoots down him. Hifumi tenses. In a weak voice, he says, “I’m... I’m just saying that you might be, ah, mistaken?”

She bares her teeth and slams her fist against the counter. He lets out a shriek as he jumps back and with this movement, sparks off a chain of events. His body collides with one of the barristers who happens to be passing by - a short guy with light brown hair and a thin build no match for Hifumi’s heftiness. The guy staggers and the tray that he carries flies out of his grip. Nearby, the girl with lavender hair swivels around on her stool, and a cup of coffee that had been on the tray vomits its insides onto her lap.

Thankfully, the drink has gone cold, so she is wet but not scalded.

“S-Sorry! I’ll get you some tissues.” says the guy, and he slips behind the counter. He ducks out of sight for a moment but returns with a wad of tissues that he offers to the girl.

“It’s no big deal. It was an accident,” she replies, dabbing at her skirt. She glances at his nametag. “Makoto Naegi.”

“How’d you...?” Makoto remembers his nametag and laughs. “R-Right! Still, I’m so sorry...”

His eyes flicker.

“Kyouko Kirigiri,” she says, answering his unasked question.

Smiles grow on both of their faces, small but full of potential. Hifumi stares. This scene seems like something out of one of his doujinshi. Not only that, but this should have happened to him, not Makoto, and not to Kyouko but -

A clunk brings him out of his trance. His iced mocha is ready and on the counter.

“Next please,” says Celes in a cold tone of voice that not even Hifumi can misinterpret, and he leaves with his head bowed forward.


End file.
